


A Study in Perspective

by rabbit_hearted



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: College!AU, F/M, and kieran is a TA, and lauren sucks at studio art, both are prideful and dumb, kieran is a hipster in a flat cap and a ramones tee, little baby micro fic, more to come soon <3, sorry this is so short, theyre students at a uni in the pacific northwest, wonder what my type isssssss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:54:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26860051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbit_hearted/pseuds/rabbit_hearted
Summary: At just three weeks ahead of winter break, Ardhalis University is all twitching anticipation and holiday mirth — Though, at the present moment, Lauren finds herself unable to partake, being that a damnelectiveclass might be what prevents her from earning her criminal justice degree.Or: Lauren Sinclair is far too type A for studio art and enlists the help of the decidedly-not-type-A Teaching Assistant Kieran White.An early offering for the Lauki Week prompt, "College"
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Comments: 15
Kudos: 74





	A Study in Perspective

She finds him slouched over a lukewarm cup of coffee, one hand thumbing idly through her portfolio, which had been described by Professor Artingham as “stunningly incompetent.” He’s wearing a flat cap low over his brow, which should look ridiculous on anyone in the twenty-first century, except he looks like reanimated film, all antiquated cool and unassuming elegance, like Humphrey Bogart bidding Ingrid Berman farewell at the end of a runway. 

Lauren slides into the stool next to him. He has an angular face, a sort of measured, logical handsomeness, as though it had been designed with a protractor. The pads of his fingertips are stained with charcoal, and he wears a washed-out Ramones t-shirt that sports a hole just above the hemline. He looks out of place and also wholly within it here, backlit by the dusky, grease-thick air of the coffeeshop. 

Lauren, growing twitchy under his impassive inspection of her work, clears her throat.

“Hi,” he murmurs absently. He flips to the next page and spends a long moment studying a charcoal figure sketch in quiet reverence, as though expecting the drawing to spontaneously animate. 

“So…” Lauren drums her fingertips against the sticky counter. “Are you going to say anything?”

A small grin twitches at the edges of his lips. At last, he lifts his gaze from the notebook to meet her own, his stare cloudless and brilliantly blue. “Has anyone told you that you’re rather impatient?” 

“You’re wearing a flat cap and you just used the word _‘rather’_ ,” Lauren mutters bitterly. “Are you even real?” 

“Quite.” He flips the portfolio shut and extends his palm towards her. “I’m Kieran White.” 

“Lauren Sinclair,” she replies. His palm is broad and warm, an artist’s hand, weathered by discipline and repetition. “Otherwise known as ‘stunningly incompetent.’” 

He grins. “To be fair, Artingham described your _art_ as incompetent, not you.” 

“Well! In that case,” Lauren drawls. 

Kieran taps the spine of her portfolio with his index finger. “It’s not _incompetent_. But it’s also not good.” He takes a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes fixed placidly on her over the rim of the mug. “Your work has no feeling.” 

Lauren’s gaze narrows onto the courtyard over his shoulder, powdery and reflective under a fresh layer of snowfall. At just three weeks ahead of winter break, Ardhalis University is all twitching anticipation and holiday mirth — Though, at the present moment, Lauren finds herself unable to partake, being that a damn _elective class_ might be what prevents her from earning her criminal justice degree. 

“I don’t know what that means. I follow every assignment perfectly.”

“Exactly,” Kieran says. “You’re taking the instruction too literally.”

“That makes no sense,” Lauren grits. “How can I be failing for following the directions?” 

“You’re not failing for following the directions. You’re failing for _only_ following the directions.” He pulls his hand over his jaw. “That sunset in your portfolio, for example. The assignment was …” 

“To illustrate a light source.”

“And you drew a sunset.”

“Yes, being that the sun is a light source.”

“But it’s not _interesting._ It’s not specific.” She notices that he’s grown more animated as he talks, leaning forward as though compelled by an unseen magnetism, his features bright with zeal. “A hundred people can be standing at different points on the horizon and they’ll still draw a sunset the same way.”

“I …” She pinches the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb. “I don’t follow.”

The door to the diner swings open with a metallic chime and in stumbles a harried (and evidently late) Kym Ladell. She holds a wrinkled apron in one fist and her Classic Literature 301 reading in the other — a battered, earmarked copy of _The Taming of the Shrew._

Kym disappears into the kitchen and then returns a moment later, sans Shakespeare, clutching in its place an equally threadbare spiral notebook. When she finally notices the two of them sitting at the counter, her mouth twists into a wry grin. Combined with her developing cowlick and rumpled barista uniform, she is charmingly disheveled in a way that somehow conveys intentionality. “Hi, Kieran! Ren, are you on a _date_?” 

Lauren coughs into her fist. “You two _know_ each other?”

“Of course. I took Studio Art last semester.” She leans forward on her elbows and beams. “Passed with flying colors, thanks to Artingham’s exceptional assistant _.”_

Kieran, pinkened by the praise, grins crookedly. “Helps when the student is naturally gifted. Are you sure I can’t convince you to switch majors?”

“No such luck, pretty boy!” Kym withdraws a mug from beneath the counter and pours coffee into it. “Unfortunately, I was born to fight crime. Here, Ren.” Kym slides the mug over the counter with enough vigor that Lauren has to scramble to catch it before it slides clean over the edge.

Lauren grimaces. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re good at art? I’d have asked you to tutor me.”

“No time. This stupid literature class is going to be the death of me,” Kym grumbles. “Not to mention that insufferable, arrogantgrad student-”

Kieran tilts his head curiously. “Who?”

“Please,” Lauren groans, placing her chin into her steepled palms. “Don’t get her started.”

Kym’s expression darkens as she begins wiping at a stain on the countertop with more force than strictly necessary. “Stupid _Willame_ and his dumb, stupid face-”

“He’s a graduate student in her literature class. Kym decided from the day that she met him that she absolutely loathes him, through no fault of his own-”

“He called my essay _‘contrived and baseless_ ’!” Kym spits, slamming the rag down hard enough that it rattles a shelf of ceramic mugs. A girl Lauren vaguely recognizes from around campus glances speculatively at the scene but wisely remains silent. “Not to mention, I hadn’t even _asked_ for his opinion-”

“Your professor asked you to peer review each other’s work, Kym. He was just doing what he was asked.”

“Lauren,” Kym murmurs, her expression now murderous. Kieran glances between the two of them bemusedly, spinning the handle of his now-empty mug around on his fingertip. “I hate him, and therefore you must also hate him, otherwise I’ll be forced to assume that our friendship means nothingto you.” 

Lauren opens her mouth to answer before Kym turns sharply on her heel, storming off to misplace her ire on some hapless freshman’s coffee order. 

After a long beat, Lauren turns back to Kieran. “I believe we were discussing sunsets?”

He blinks, as though caught daydreaming, and then chuckles lowly, more an exhalation of breath than anything. Something in her chest tightens with the abrupt realization that his face opens pleasantly when he smiles, like parting clouds. 

“Have you ever been to the chapel on campus? Near the south dining hall?”

“No,” Lauren says. “I’m not really religious.”

Kieran smirks. “That wasn’t why I asked.” He pulls back his shirtsleeve and Lauren notices that he uses an actual analog watch, and she isn’t sure why this observation gratifies her, but it does. “Do you have a minute? I want to show you something.”

  
  
  


Ardhalis University’s gothic architecture adds to its old age appeal, complete with all of the damp ambiance of the Pacific Northwest. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder on the crest of the hill overlooking the chapel, their breath crystallizing in the dying light. She’s reminded, then, of why she chose to come here - even despite its occasional culinary shortcomings and exorbitantly expensive tuition. 

“I told you I’m not religious,” Lauren says.

Kieran scoffs. “And _I told you_ that that’s not why I asked if you’ve been here before. Keep up, Sinclair.” He forgoes the stone steps, choosing instead to skid down the sloping knoll without waiting for her reply. “While I’ve got you, though,” he calls, “Do you have a moment to learn about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?”

He spins and grins boyishly up at her, his sharp profile ruddied by the biting wind. Lauren snorts and skips down the steps after him. 

“Remind me what this has to do with art?” 

Kieran clicks his tongue and pulls open the heavy wooden door to the chapel. A breath of warm, spicy air washes over her face as she shoulders out of the cold. “God,” he mutters, “You really _are_ impatient.” 

She pauses in the threshold of the church, struck anew by the reverent quiet, as tangible as a living thing. Mahogany pews yawn into the cavernous distance, awash in the reflected shapes made by the sunlight passing through the stained glass windows. The most stunning mosaic is a portrait of the Madonna, her delicate fingers twined over her chest, lips parted in the precipice of a prayer. 

When Kieran brings her palm up to her elbow, she shivers. “This way,” he says, leading her towards the pews.

He motions for her to sit when she lingers hesitantly at the edge of the aisle, her fingertips glancing over the lacquered finish. They’re positioned right below the portrait, facing the altar, as though spectating an unseen sermon. Lauren shifts restlessly, the wooden pew creaking lowly beneath her. 

“Shh,” Kieran hisses. 

“I didn’t even _say_ anything.”

“I can practically hear your thoughts.”

“Oh, now you’re an artist _and_ a clairvoyant?”

When he turns to her, he’s close enough that she can see that his right brow is bisected by a little white half-moon scar. She wonders where he got it from. “It doesn’t take a clairvoyant to be able to tell what you’re thinking,” he murmurs. She swallows thickly, desperately relieved when he leans back, restoring the distance between them. “It’s written all over your face. You’d make a terrible criminal.”

They lapse back into silence, and then Kieran lifts his chin in the direction of the window. “Look.”

And then the reason he’s brought her here suddenly registers with perfect clarity. The sun has sunken low enough over the horizon that it passes precisely through the Madonna’s clasped palms, illuminating the soft planes of her face so delicately that the rendering could almost be confused for a photograph. 

He had told her that a hundred people could stand at different points on the horizon and capture the same scene. But here, two fixed points placed beneath something that has long preceded them, affords a perspective so specific that it nearly feels like a memory. 

When he turns back to her, she can tell that he sees something in her expression that pleases him. “Now,” he says, handing her back her portfolio. “Draw _that_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, hi there!
> 
> A little micro-one shot for the Lauki week prompt, "College." I know it's early, but I felt like it had been so long since I'd talked to you lovely people, so I wanted to give you a little something - even as short as this. Oh man, I would also LOVEEEE to write a Kywi addition to this. GRAD STUDENT WILLAME!
> 
> I hope to do more Lauki week prompts next week if I have time! I was actually already working on a very soft parent fic before I had even heard that that was also one of the prompts, so hopefully that's on the way -- Assuming I can pull it from the pile of rubble that is my drafts folder. 
> 
> I wish I had a way to chat with you guys on here. Ao3 really needs to get it together and give us a forum or DM feature. Until then, know that I love you all so very much, and hope to give you something a bit longer very soon!
> 
> And THANK YOU for 800 kudos! Wow, that is mind-boggling to even type out.
> 
> -Rabbit


End file.
